


Summer comes, winter fades

by gallifreyandglowclouds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Implied past drug use, M/M, but there is pretty frank talk about addiction/recovery, but there's none in the fic so do not worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyandglowclouds/pseuds/gallifreyandglowclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard not to throw everything away, when you're grinding through recovery and life feels like a bit of a drag, but sometimes, there are cute boys behind bodega counters to make everything better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer comes, winter fades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelwarm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwarm/gifts).



> Thanks to angelwarm for three awesome prompts. I genuinely would have written all of them if I also wasn't studying for exams.  
> Disclaimer that I'm not super familiar with NA or Manhattan geography, so take what I'm saying with a grain of salt.

Every morning, Louis wakes up and he runs. Same route every day – he goes up along Hamilton Grange, then west along 145th street, across Amsterdam and Broadway and Riverside Drive and then out and down the East River until his legs are screaming and his heart is pounding out of his chest, and then he goes home. Besides work and NA, it’s the one routine that he’s able to keep, can’t even keep up with weekly TV shows because his brain is so scattered all the time.

With every step comes the eternal reminder of _don’t fuck up now, you can do this, you can stay clean,_ when every bone in his body is screaming for something, even just a cigarette, you don’t have to start hardcore using again, that’s not what that means.

He shakes his head, inhales deeply and keeps running. He’ll beat it someday, he knows.

He meets up with Liam that afternoon on his lunch break, after a morning of testing blood samples and staring at slides. It’s monotonous, but he knows that every day that he’s there working is another day that he’s not coked out of his mind.

Liam is one of those Wall Street banker types, who proves, Louis thinks a little bitterly, that there’s a different system for drug addicts depending on who you are (though, he also supposes, he’s benefitted from it as well, so perhaps it doesn’t do him well to be too bitter about it). Liam has proved to be, however, an excellent sponsor, and he’s consistent about meeting once a week for coffee. (Liam also pays for the coffee, which is an excellent added bonus.)

“So,” Liam asks, placing his espresso down on the saucer, “how are things?”

Louis shrugs. “Eh.”

“Eh?”

“Eh.” He sighs. “It’s – this is hard.”

Liam nods, and sighs. “Don’t I know it. What are you at now?”

“Going on six months,” Louis says, hands fidgeting under the table. “I think they owe me a little blue chip when I go to my meeting on Friday.”

“Good job,” Liam says, smile hinting on his lips. “You’re doing a lot better than I was, I’ll tell you that.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Liam says. “I kept on falling off the wagon at first, and then, well, I showed up to a meeting so coked out that I couldn’t string sentences together. That’s what got me into inpatient, and then, well, here I am. Five years on. You can do it, you know.”

“Thanks.” Liam believes in Louis more than Louis believes in Louis sometimes. “How’s Zayn and the girls?”

“They’re good!” Liam pulls out his phone to show Louis a picture of the four of them together, Liam’s daughters both dressed up as Elsa.

“God, they’re cute,” Louis says, smiling. He reminds himself that he has to call his mom this weekend, which means a good twenty minutes being passed between siblings.

Liam smiles, and Louis possibly detects him choking up a bit. “You know, they keep me on the straight and narrow more than anything, and Z, too – he’s my rock, you know. Do you have someone, Louis?”

“Ha!” Louis laughs. “No, I need to sort my own shit out first.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Liam says, then downs the rest of his coffee. “Meeting tonight?”

Louis nods. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

“Great,” Liam says. “Keep up the good work, Louis. I’ve got to head back to the office, but I’ll see you here next week?”

Louis nods. “Sure thing.”

* * *

 

Work is the same, but on Friday afternoons Louis is usually so checked out that he’s barely productive. He hops on the A train to take him back up to Harlem, heats up the leftover stir fry that he made the night before, and tries to focus on some inane PBS documentary on Netflix before he has to go to his meeting. It’s a sharing night, which he isn’t really looking forward to. He hates telling his story, because really, on the scale of addiction, he has it pretty easy.

(However, recovery is recovery, and he has to be consistent about this. He has goals that he needs to not be a drug addict to achieve, and if NA is going to help him get there, then so be it.)

He sits down next to a blond man he hasn’t seen before tonight. The chairs are set up in a circle in the church hall, twenty in all, and only half are full.

Mark, the convenor, stands up. “Welcome everyone, I’m seeing a couple new faces tonight, which is – which is good.”

The woman sitting across the circle from Louis twiddles her thumb and looks firmly down at the floor.

“Alright, we’re going to go around and share our stories tonight, so who would like to get us started?”

No one volunteers. _Ah, fuck it,_ Louis thinks, and puts up his hand. Mark nods in his direction, and Louis stands up.

“Hi everyone, my name is Louis, and I’m an addict,” he says, words which have gotten a little bit easier in the last few months.

“Hello, Louis,” the group responds, and Louis notes the distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Right, so, about me,” Louis says. “I started with prescription things when I was in high school – Adderall, things like that, you know? And then when I started university, it was easier to get coke, so I started using when I was in my first year of university. I’d like to think that I kept it under control, but people probably knew, and I tried to kick it while I was there and I could for a few months at a time, but I’d be on and off it, I really did, but – pre-med is stressful, and it kept me going for long enough to get through all the work I needed to do. I guess I hit bottom when, on the day I was supposed to graduate, I OD’d, and I ended up in the hospital, and so instead of going to medical school, I ended up in inpatient rehab.” He’s still a little bitter about it, but – it’s his fuckup, so he’s got to own it. “And I did that for a while, and now I’ve got a job, and a place, and I’m still hoping to become a doctor, I guess. I’m, I’m six months sober, which is longer than I’ve stayed off it before, so I guess that’s something.” He nods to punctuate the end of the story, and the people at the meeting applaud.

“Thank you, Louis,” they chant, and he sits down.

He gets his blue chip from Mark at the end of the meeting, and then it’s time for donuts, which is one of the only things that redeems these depressing-ass meetings for him. He fills up a cup of coffee and picks a Boston Crème donut, and acts like he’s super involved in analysing the weird pattern of floor tiles. The blond man who he hadn’t seen before comes up to him and waves at him.

“Hey,” he says, rocking back and forth on his shoes. “Uh, thanks for uh, sharing tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis says, and contemplates how weird this conversation is. No one has ever thanked him for sharing. He can barely talk about this with his parents, and they’re the ones who pay the rent on the apartment he lives in. “Neil?”

“Niall,” he says. “I guess uh, I’m right at the beginning of the process, only went to my first meeting last week, and, it’s uh, hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, you know?”

Louis thinks about the picture that Liam showed him when they met for coffee. “Yeah, I know. It – it really gets better, you know? I promise.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, reaching for a coffee, and Louis thinks that the guy’s so fidgety that more caffeine is the last thing he needs. “I – I need to hear that.”

Louis smiles.

* * *

 

When he gets back home last night, after finally surrendering his phone number to Niall, which he knew he wasn’t going to get out of, his house is dark and cold, and he – he thinks again to what Liam says about finding someone.

Eh. He’s just got to give it time.

* * *

 

He laces up his running shoes the next morning, determined to enjoy the early spring sunshine, and when he gets out on to the lobby of his building, he’s about to take his normal running route, and then considers – he should try something new. Shake it up a little bit.

He gets down the to the top of Central Park and then seriously regrets not eating breakfast before leaving home. Shit. He’s got to find a bodega or he’s going to starve to death.

He walks along 110th street, looking for a little something to eat or drink.

A bodega appears, like a bolt out of the blue, and Louis has never been so happy to see the dark looking little store.

A bell rings just a shade too loud as he pushes the door open, and jumps.

“Sorry,” the boy behind the counter says, looking up from his book for a second. “Scares the shit out of everyone.”

“Noted,” Louis replies. He’s surprised by his forwardness, a little taken aback, but he likes it, because it’s bracing and refreshingly not full of crap. He sidles up to the counter, leans against it, and tries to act charming and polite despite his intense sweatiness. “Can I uh, get a coffee?”

“Indeed,” the boy behind the counter replies. “Anything else?”

Louis only has a couple of seriously sweaty ones stuffed in his running socks in case of emergency, so no, probably not. He shakes his head.

“Lovely,” the boy replies, “that’ll be one fifty, and I reserve the right to charge a thirty percent gratuity if you’re seriously going to pull something out of your damn socks.”

“Sorry,” Louis replies, muffled, as he grabs his money.

“I’m only kidding,”he replies with a sigh. “I’ve seen money from worse places.”

“I, uh,” Louis says, accepting his small paper cup and fumbling for the right words, “I don’t want to know.”

“You seriously don’t.” The boy shrugs, and Louis only notices now how brilliantly green his eyes are. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

Louis laughs a little, and the boy behind the counter smiles. He’s like, passably cute. Louis can stand him.

“All the condiments you can stand are over there,” he says. “Please don’t put hot sauce in your coffee.”

Louis has just turned away from the counter, and stops suddenly. “That’s happened?”

“I have good stories, what can I say?” he replies, grinning. “Wanna hear some more?”

* * *

 

He doesn’t actually mean to spend half the morning sitting on a stool in the little bodega, chatting to Harry – that’s his name, Harry, because he won’t bear being called Harold – in between customers. It’s quiet, or so Harry says, because maybe all the regulars have started heading off to their country homes or something.

Harry’s opened a coffee tab for him. Louis is on his third cup.

“I mean,” Louis says, “why would they ever? They’d miss coffee this good.”

“I know,” Harry replies. “It’s some weird shit that Amina brings back from Turkey when she goes home. Apparently you can taste colours.”

Hmmm. Louis is feeling a little more buzzed than normal, but it’s not a bad high, for once. He’s not sure whether he’s at the ‘tasting colours’ stage or not, though.

“It's nice,” Louis says, smiling at the bottom of his little cup, and then realizes that it's ten o’clock and what the hell am I doing with my life, I need to go home. “Listen, it's been great chatting guess.d home, i inhell am i of his little cup, and rhen and everything, but I need to head home, I guess.”

“Ah,” Harry replies, head hanging a little in disappointment. “I'll see you around, I guess?”

Louis nods at him, and heads out the door, activating the stupid bell again. He notes the slight ring of regret in his voice, and turns around. “Got a spare napkin?”

Harry nods.

“A pen too, quite possibly?”

Harry fishes around in the pocket of his sweater, and produces a pen.

“Perfect.” Louis comes back to the counter, grabs the pen and napkin, and scribbled out his phone number. “So, even though I have to go grocery shopping now, you can still get in touch.”

Harry cracks a smile, and Louis senses the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

 

Harry doesn't tell him his phone number, and Niall has been texting him too, almost frantically, so all Louis has is a string of texts from unknown numbers. However, it becomes much clearer to Louis after he realizes that Niall can’t spell for shit, and that his messages come much more frequently than Harry’s.

They’re also both asking him to meet up this evening, and Louis is not used to having this kind of social engagement. Usually his life revolves around meeting Liam once a week, work, and making sure that he goes to enough NA meetings. He’s debating what might be an appropriate sober hangout that won’t bore the hell out of Harry but not set Niall off, and then he realizes that the new Avengers movie was released like, yesterday. Perfect.

He texts Harry first. _How do you like Marvel movies?_

_Haven’t seen any of them. Might need a lot of explanation._

This confirms Louis’ first theory about Harry – that he’s an irredeemable hipster. The Dostoyevsky that he was reading this morning and his floral patterned shirt should really have tipped him off a little more. _Ok – see here’s the thing – I met this guy at meeting and he also wants to hang out tonight, but I can’t take him out to a club or bar, but he’d be willing to see a movie._

_Like, a Quaker meeting?_

Why is that the first place Harry’s mind goes? _No, NA._

Harry then doesn’t reply for several minutes, which probably means that he’s either Googling what NA is, debating whether he wants to hang out with a couple of former drug addicts, or possibly both.

_Fair enough, I see what you’re saying. There’s that big multiplex down by Columbus Circle – should we meet down there for dinner beforehand?_

_Yeah, sounds good. Let me text Niall and we’ll clear up timing._

Harry texts him a thumbs up emoji.

He confirms plans with Niall, and then settles back into his armchair, feeling satisfied. Right. Now he needs to call his mother.

* * *

 

The three of them meet up for Chinese food by the movie theatre, and any worries that Louis had about lingering awkwardness – given that he’s known Harry for about twelve hours and Niall for just over twenty-four – are quickly dispelled, because Niall couldn’t shut up to save his life, and Harry’s entire sense of humor is based on drily delivered terrible jokes.

“So,” Harry says, after Niall’s finished a ten-minute story about his time in prison that Louis has almost completely lost the thread of, “there are two muffins in an oven, and one muffin looks over at the other muffin and says, ‘gee, it’s really hot in here’, and the other muffin yells, ‘ah, a talking muffin!’”

It takes Louis and Niall a second each to grasp the joke, and Niall breaks out in guffaws, prompting stares from the other patrons in the restaurant.

“That,” Niall says, laughter aftershocks still coursing through his body, “is the stupidest fucking thing that I’ve heard in my entire life.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, grinning.

“I have to agree with Niall on that one,” Louis replies. “What the hell, Harry?”

He shrugs. “You always need a good joke to defuse a tense situation.”

“I should keep that advice in mind,” Niall says. “Just in case I end up back in jail.”

Louis almost spits out his water. “Yeah, let’s not aim for that, bud.”

“Indeed,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair, “I think that wouldn’t be so good. I can still tell you all nine terrible jokes I know, though.”

“One’s done us well enough for tonight, Harry,” Louis says drolly, even though he actually kind of thinks that his jokes are cute.

The movie’s alright, but Louis spends most of his time explaining what’s going on to Harry, so he figures he’ll have to go see it again alone, where he won’t have to explain it all to someone.

Niall heads south to catch the train back over to Queens, and Louis and Harry both start to make their way north.

* * *

 

“So,” Harry says, as they wait for the train back up to Harlem, “I think I’m going to have to watch all those movies now.”

“There goes like, twenty hours of your life,” Louis says with a smile.  

“Well, it’s exam time, so that’s as good a time as any for that.”

“Yeah.” Louis says, shaking his head. “You always find those things to waste your time with when you actually have to get stuff done, right?”

“Yup,” Harry says.

“I know this from experience,” Louis says, staring straight ahead. “I mean, the stuff I usually got involved with was illegal, but yeah, same principle.”

“Hence the Narcotics Anonymous?”

Louis nods, still not looking at Harry.

“Huh.” Harry replies, and then says nothing.

A moment of awkward silence passes between them.

“Sorry,” Louis says, “I’m not good at talking about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry says. “I mean, shit, we barely know each other.”

The thing is, and Louis hasn’t said this to Harry or really processed it properly himself, that he feels like he feels like he’s known Harry for ages and ages, and really, all they’ve bonded over is people putting hot sauce in their coffees (mostly by accident, according to Harry).

They sit beside each other on the train, until they get up to Louis’ station, and he waves a quick goodbye to Harry.

“See you around?” Harry says, a note of hope in his voice.

Louis nods, and steps out the door.

* * *

 

Two things happen in the next week, which make it more exciting than weeks previous.

The first is that Niall asks him to be his NA sponsor.

“Um.” Louis says as he walks with Niall to the subway station. “I’m really flattered, Ni, but like, don’t you want someone with a bit more experience?”

“Well, you’re sober for six months, yeah?” Niall asks, hands jammed in his pocket, looking at Louis eagerly.

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m going on like, two weeks, so to me, you have plenty experience.”

“But like,” Louis says, “the guy who sponsors me had been in for like, a year. Ben – you know the guy, brown hair, like to talk about his former MMA career? He’s been around longer than I have.”

“Ben is an arrogant, self-righteous prick,” Niall says sharply. “You, on the other hand, pretty much have your life together.”

That is – that is not something Louis really thinks about himself, but he does have a job and a small-ish apartment (though both those things only exist through benevolent parental support) and concrete dreams and ambitions for the future. He – shit, he needs to ask Liam about it when he seems him tomorrow.

“I’ll think about it,” Louis says, as they get to the subway stop, and he face Niall. “I’ll let you know on Wednesday, alright?”

Niall nods.

“Just keep out of trouble, alright kid?” Louis says.

Niall nods again, and gives him a quick wave as he heads down the steps and into the station.

 _For what it’s worth,_ Harry’s response to him says, when he texts him the minute he gets home about the whole Niall thing, _I think you should do it._

Liam is going to say the same thing, Louis predicts.

 _I mean,_ the next text reads, _I don’t know anything about 12 step programs. But he seems to trust and like you, and he needs some guidance._

 _Yup,_ Louis replies. _I think so._

_Wanna come over for dinner on Sunday?_

Louis marks that down as exciting thing number two to happen this week.

_Yeah, for sure._

_Cool. I told you I live with my sister, right?_

_Nope._

_Ah, alright. Well, Gemma doesn’t bite, and she makes a mean salad. Just so you know._

_Sick. I’ll see you on Sunday, then._

* * *

 

He ends up sponsoring Niall, and sets up their weekly coffee date – Liam would be so proud – on a Thursday, when Niall has a day off from working at CVS. Louis consciously budgets enough to buy him and Niall coffee, because he notices the way that Niall’s shoes are only held together by duct tape and little holes keep pulling along the seams of the shirts he wears. It’s a nice, little thing that he can do for Niall.

He runs too, every day, despite Harry’s warnings that his knees are going to give out, but doesn’t often make it down to the bodega, because then he’ll get caught up talking to Harry and he can ill-afford to lose his job, regardless of how much he hates it.

Sunday, however – that’s the day that he’s looking forward to, goes home and gets one of his nicer shirts that’s stashed in the attic of his mom’s house out in Westchester, then gets Lottie to give him step-by-step brownie instructions as Harry has tasked him with getting some kind of dessert, and Louis is not a particularly talented baker.

Brownies in hand, he hops on the subway to Harry and Gemma’s house – they live just enough south of him that Louis figures that at least Gemma has some source of income that’s not working behind a counter serving coffee.

It ends up being a nice little walk-up, so yeah, she definitely does, and he tries to look smart and refined and not at all nervous, and knocks on the door.

Harry answers, his face lighting up when he sees Louis. “Hey, Louis! Oh shit, are those brownies?”

“Language!” Someone shouts sharply from where Louis can’t see.

Louis nods. “Indeed they are. Hey, Harry.”

He’s not sure whether they’re at the hug stage yet, and clearly Harry isn’t either, so they both just kind of stand and shuffle awkwardly at the door for a couple seconds.

“Well, uh, come on in,” Harry says, stepping to one side so Louis can enter. Harry and Gemma’s place is adorable, full of decorative flourishes like surprisingly class art that Louis does not attribute to Harry (then again, Harry has impeccable taste in patterned shirts and skinny jeans, so he could be wrong on that one). He follows Harry into the kitchen, where Gemma is cooking something that smells delicious, and puts his brownies down in a free spot on the counter.

“Hey,” Gemma says, not looking up from her cooking. “I’m Gemma.”

“I’m amazed she’s not pulling that Dr. Styles bullshit she normally does with guests,” Harry says dryly.

“It is my day off, Haz,” Gemma says, shaking her head. “I’m not Dr. Styles all the time. Most of the time, maybe, but not all the time.”

“Noted,” Louis says, as Harry hands him a glass. Harry gesticulates towards a jug of… something colourful, and Louis says, “only if there’s no booze.”

“We are dry on your account tonight,” Harry says. Louis nods gratefully, and hands him his glass.

“So, Gemma,” Louis says, “you a PhD kind of doctor, or a real doctor?”

“Real one,” she replies. “I mean, I do have my PhD, but like, I’m a surgeon and I work in a hospital.”

“Cool,” Louis says. “I’m uh, I’m hoping to go back to medical school in a little while.”

“Nice,” Gemma says, flashing him a thumbs up. “Let me know if you want any advice or anything.

Harry’s still there on the other side of the kitchen, and Louis might catch him beaming at him out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t quite be sure.

The three of them stand in the kitchen and talk, notwithstanding Harry and Gemma’s lovely living room, and sit down to eat at a small-ish table that the three of them can just barely fit around. Louis keeps on bumping knees with Harry as he eats.

* * *

 

Gemma leaves the two of them with the dishes after dinner, citing a long and busy week at work, and Louis washes while Harry dries.

“So,” Louis says, because the question’s been bugging him all night but he was just never sure of the right time to ask, “how does an attractive guy like you end up living with his sister in Manhattan.”

Harry sighs, and Louis immediately sense he’s hit a nerve.

“You don’t – you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry says, placing a plate in a cupboard with his back to Louis. “Things for Gemma and I – they were, I guess – I guess the word is difficult? Yeah, things weren’t good at home, and Gemma’s a good bit older than I am, so she went off to the city right after she graduated high school. I mean, it’s better than I was, I even wrapped up high school here in New York, because things just got too bad for me. I slept on the floor of Gemma’s old apartment for like, six months before she got this place.”

“Can’t have been comfortable.” Louis suddenly feels intensely guilty, like he’s got something he doesn’t entirely deserve because his family relations are reasonably intact.

“It was what it was,” Harry says, as he waits for Louis to finish washing a pot. “I mean, I’m here now, how bad could it have been?”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know.”

They sit in the living room for a while then, catching each other up on all the things that, you know, normal people generally ask each in the process of getting to know each other, which Louis and Harry seem to apparently have skipped. When he leaves it’s the middle of the night, and he goes against Harry’s protests to stay the night.

“Our couch is very comfortable,” Harry says as Louis laces up his running shoes.

“Harry, don’t worry about,” Louis says. “Really, I need to get to work tomorrow and everything.”

“Ah, right,” Harry says.

“Wouldn’t you have class?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not on Mondays or Fridays.”

“Ah, to be a student again.”

“You will be soon, though, right?” Harry says, smiling at him. “You’re going to medical school.”

Louis sighs. He can barely get through a conversation with his mother without her asking him when he’s planning on going back to school. He makes a mental note to stop mentioning to Harry.

“Right,” Harry says, “sorry, I won’t ask.”

“Thanks,” Louis says. “You are right, though. I’m going to go, but I’ve kind of got to get my shit together first, you know?”

Harry nods. “Understood. I’ll, uh, see you next weekend, then?”

“More Sunday dinner?”

“Nah,” Harry says, smiling and blushing a little. “Well, if you’d like. I meant that you might come down to the bodega on your run. Gets a bit boring without you there.”

“Indeed,” Louis says, already looking forward to it. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

 

Louis’ life adjusts to a new rhythm as spring folds into summer. He meets with Liam on Tuesdays, Niall on Thursdays, and spends most weekends with Harry. His mom keeps on asking when Harry’s going to come visit them, almost like Louis and Harry are dating or something, and like – maybe, but he doesn’t want to freak Harry out or anything. He’d maybe kind of like to date Harry, might like to cuddle a bit when they watch Netflix, but he’s so worried about slipping back into old habits and accidentally taking Harry down with him that he wouldn’t dare to.

He goes to bed on a warm yet not soupy Friday in late June after his meeting, looking forward to seeing Harry the next morning, but he wakes up a in a cold sweat, and the only thing he can think about is getting a hit.

No, no, no, he can’t throw everything away that he’s worked so hard over the last little while. But he knows that if he leaves the house, he’s going to want to take a hit, and that’s no good, so he needs to forgo his morning run and just stay at home.

He pours himself some milk and cereal and sits on the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He’s trying to think about what might have set this off – he’s been a little more anxious than usual, trying to keep up with all the new (yet, very wonderful) things going on in his life, maybe it’s the tough conversation he’d had with mom about money, but like, it hasn’t hit him this hard for at least a month and a half. Shit.

He should call Liam, ask for some kind of advice, but can’t deal with it right now. _But that’s what a sponsor is for, Louis._ He needs his brain to just fuck off sometimes.

The first person to notice his radio silence is, unsurprisingly, Harry.

_Did I miss you this morning?_

He’s not sure how to respond, because he feels like he’s failing, and he doesn’t want to let Harry down. Half an hour goes by, and he doesn’t hear from Harry again.

_Louis, I’m coming over there if I don’t hear from you in fifteen minutes._

_Don’t worry,_ he texts back, hands shaking. _Having a bad day. Just need some time._

 _Do you need me to come over?_ Bless Harry for never leaving Louis in suspense from a texting perspective.

Actually, Harry’s silent, solid presence might not be such a bad thing. _Yeah, only if it’s not too much._

_I’ll be there in a couple hours, just have to finish my shift._

Right. Two hours. He can hold on until then.

* * *

 

He buzzes Harry up straight away, and Harry comes in with an armful of junk food and a couple bags of groceries.

“Shit,” he observes as Louis lets him in, “you look like hell.”

Louis nods, and rubs his eyes.

“You left the house today?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Right,” Harry says. “Well, I brought stuff for dinner, and snacks, and I don’t have to work tomorrow, so you have me until Monday morning. Can I go stick some stuff in the fridge?”

Louis nods, and points Harry to the kitchen. “I don’t think I’ll need you until Monday, though you’re entirely welcome to stay until then.”

“Cool,” Harry says. Louis goes back to sit on the couch, and he hears Harry humming softly as he puts things away in the kitchen. Harry comes back, and sits beside Louis, looking at the screen on his laptop.

“You finished Daredevil yet?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’ve watched like, three episodes.”

“Ha, me too,” Harry says. “You’ve got me on a bit of a Marvel kick, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Harry’s voice is soft and cautious, which calms Louis down a little bit.

“We should watch the next one then, I guess,” Louis mutters. His head is killing him, and what he’d really like to do is sleep.

“Great,” Harry says, and reaches out to click the next episode button.

* * *

 

About two episodes later, Harry is giving Louis a shoulder massage, and he’s pretty much given up on paying any attention to Netflix. Harry’s breathing is heavy and steady, and Louis can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

Louis is also halfway to hard in his trousers, just from Harry having his hands on him like this, and it’s nice, his giving Louis a massage like this, but it shouldn’t be this _nice,_ and it’s sort of messing with Louis’ head that the only feeling that can permeate this fog is arousal.

“Better?” Harry whispers in his hear, hot breath sending sparks down Louis’ spine.

Louis feels practically boneless, like he could just melt right back into Harry. “Yeah.”

“ ‘S good,” Harry mutters back, and for a moment, Louis wonders if this has the same effect on him, but then mentally shuts the thought down as fast as it comes up.

“Thanks,” Louis whispers back, and thinks that this might be the perfect time for Harry to kiss him on the shoulder.

He doesn’t.

Louis curls up against the other side of the couch, and nods gratefully at Harry before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

 

Harry shakes him awake a few hours later, Louis guesses, and the apartment smells lovely.

“I made Pad Thai,” Harry says. “Do you wanna eat?”

Louis nods as his stomach grumbles, seemingly right on cue.

Harry is a significantly better cook than Louis, because the most complex thing that Louis might attempt is chicken fried rice, but he might need to learn how to make Pad Thai (or convince Harry to come and live with him), because Christ on a cracker, it’s good.

“Um,” Louis says, as they’re sitting at his small dining room table, and the fog in his brain has lifted enough that he can probably string together sentences, “thanks so much for this, Harry.”

Harry smiles, but Louis detects something else, something a little strained behind it. “It’s not a big deal, Lou.”

The nickname makes his heart flutter a little. “For me, Harry, it is.”

“I’d do it anytime,” Harry replies, a little wistfully.

Louis isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

* * *

 

Louis’s ninety percent sure that he falls asleep on his couch, but he wakes up in bed the next morning, comforter pulled up to his chin. He reaches out beside himself, doesn’t feel anyone lying beside him, and guesses that Harry must have let himself out after tucking him in. That man’s too good for the world, Louis thinks, and definitely too good for him.

He tiptoes out into the living room, and finds Harry asleep on the couch, shirt rumpled and hair down. Well, that explains that.

Louis feels better, mind clearer and stronger, and he’s certainly not craving coke as much as he was twenty-four hours ago. He takes a deep, shaky breath and closes his eyes, and then realizes that if it wasn’t for Harry’s rather timely intervention, he’d probably have broken his eight-month streak. The pool of affection in his heart for Harry deepens at the thought. He wants to wake him up, wants to kiss him and tell him about all the feelings tangling up his heart and mind, but skips it in favour of taking a shower. He feels fucking gross.

The water beating at his back focuses his thoughts, except all he can think about is _harryharryharryharry,_ and how his hands felt on Louis, working out all the kinks in his back and shoulders, and suddenly he’s got a hand around his dick and he’s gasping, loud enough that the shower probably doesn’t cover the noise.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but he’s too far gone now, bringing himself off, and then he cleans himself up slowly, trying to bring his head back to somewhere a bit more focused.

He steps out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and Harry’s standing up on his tip-toes, stretching himself out, and Louis takes a moment to admire the view before Harry turns around, a smile on his face.

“Morning Lou – oh,” he says, face unreadable.

Right, because there he is in a towel that’s slipping down his hips as he walks down the hallway, and Harry’s eyes scan up and down Louis’ body hungrily. Louis flushes red.

“You good?” Louis asks, fiddling with his towel, trying to keep it up around his hips.

“Um,” Harry says, stepping around the couch and meeting Louis in the hallway. “I, uh, I think so?”

Louis isn’t sure if he’s reading the situation right, but Harry’s famous composure is possibly cracking right before his eyes.

“Sleep alright?” Louis asks, backing up against the wall beside his bedroom door. Harry steps in front of him, not quite boxing him in yet, but close enough that Louis has to look up at him. Jesus, he’s so fucking tall.

Harry nods. “You?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat where Louis isn’t sure what his next move should be before his brain seems to go _ah, fuck it,_ and he steps forward and kisses Harry.

Harry makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, and one of his hands rests gently on Louis’ hip, feeling the still-damp skin. He makes a pained noise in the back of his throat as Louis threads his hands through his brown curls.

Harry is gasping for breath, lips shiny and eyes dark, when they break apart.

“Lou,” Harry says softly, “I had no fucking clue…”

“That I wanted this?” Louis asks. “Because I’ve really just worked that out for myself fairly recently, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes.

“Do you –“

“More than anything,” Harry replies, nodding. Louis’ hand sneaks under his shirt where’s come untucked from his jeans, and Harry exhales sharply. “But maybe – maybe not when you’re like this?”

“Like how?” Louis asks.

“I mean, I want – I need this to be something real, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “Not just because you need a high or some shit like that.”

Harry’s words give him pause for a moment, but he shakes his head. “No, Harry, this is – this is real.”

Harry nods, hand resting just above where Louis’ towel is tied around his waist. “Can I –“ he asks carefully, slipping his hand down,

“Please,” Louis exhales, and Harry hesitates so he does it himself, and the pained moan that Harry makes when the towel hits the floor is probably the best thing he’s heard all day.

* * *

 

Louis wakes up again around noon, this time curled up against Harry’s back. Harry’s hair is sprawled across the pillow, and he’s neatly silhouetted by the midday light streaming through Louis’ curtains. Louis presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s shoulders, prompting Harry to roll over to face him.

“Morning,” Harry mutters. “Or, afternoon, maybe?”

“The latter,” Louis says absently. The events of the last couple hours flash through his mind in a series of short pictures – Harry on his knees in the hallway, Louis pressing Harry into his bed as he moaned under his touch, the feeling of Harry’s body around him –

Harry presses a gentle kiss to Louis’ forehead, bringing him back to reality.

“We should talk,” Harry says.

“Mhm,” Louis agrees. “So, you know I’m a wreck, right? Like an honest to god walking disaster?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, but you’re a wreck dedicated to not being a wreck, so there’s that.”

“I’m sorry it happened this way,” Louis says, and seeing Harry’s expression, continues, “not that this happened – shit, Harry, how could I regret this? But more that I had wanted to be in a better place for you.”

“Can I help you get there?” Harry asks, concerned.

“Probably,” Louis says. “I think so.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Because, you know, I’m not quite as put together as you think I might be.”

“I look forward to finding out exactly what that means.”

* * *

 

Liam invites Louis and Harry and Niall to his end-of-summer barbecue in August, and Louis stands with Liam, watching Harry play tag with the girls. Niall’s over flirting with one of Zayn’s sisters and ignoring the dark looks Zayn keeps shooting him, which is likely going to go over terribly, Liam’s talking about MCAT preparation and the application process for medical school, but all Louis can think about is Harry with kids.

Harry looks at him from across the yard, and smiles at him. Louis nods, and smiles back, and yeah, for the first time in a while, he looks into the future, and all that he can see is bright.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://gallifreyandglowclouds.tumblr.com/) for existential angst and also memes


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